


Occupy

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Food Issues, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows Tony has the gift of the gab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupy

**Author's Note:**

> I desperately needed fluff and crack to balance out all the doom and gloom I've been writing, so prompts were requested. Cayra asked for: _Tony consumes too much sugar, with amusing consequences._

Tony glances up briefly when someone enters the workshop, but he only looks up again when he realizes it's Wilson. That's odd enough that he wracks his brain with a frown, trying to remember if he was supposed to be working on Wilson's wings, but he's drawing a blank. Combine that with the fact that Wilson usually avoids the workshop, claiming Tony's lackadaisical approach to things like sleep makes his soul weep, and things are officially strange enough to have Tony sitting back from his work to stare.

Wilson moves purposefully around the workshop, depositing small bowls at random on flat surfaces. Small, decorative bowls whose contents click softly together. Tony immediately wants to investigate but stubbornly refuses to move. Wilson is ignoring him, and deliberately mysterious behavior is almost always a trap.

Then Sam comes over a sets a bowl down practically by his elbow, and every ounce of self-preservation flies right out the window.

"Candy?" he asks, scooping up a handful of plain M&Ms but hesitating before popping them in his mouth. Why would Wilson be bringing him candy? Most people are of the consensus that he has too much energy as it is.

"Calories," Wilson explains with a shrug. "As in, Barnes is consuming about half of what he needs. At this point, we'll try anything."

"Oh," Tony says guiltily, about to put his handful back. He's heard Barnes protest before that he just isn't hungry, has watched him brush off their questions with a helpless shrug. Tony doesn't think Barnes is deliberately trying to starve himself, believes him when he says that things don't taste right anymore. He sounds just as confused as the rest of them. Barnes' only kryptonite seems to be a sweet tooth that predates the war; it makes sense to ambush him with any food he'll accept.

"Hey, no, go ahead," Wilson tells him earnestly. "That's another thing: most of the time he doesn't even realize he's hungry until he sees someone else eat. If he sees you picking at those, he'll be more likely to have some himself."

"Got it," Tony says, but he still feels self-conscious enough that he eats the half-dozen or so he'd grabbed slowly, one at a time.

That doesn't last.

***

There are butterscotch discs on the little table that sits by the elevator on Steve's floor, and Tony unwraps one without thinking, shoving the cellophane into a pocket that already crinkles. A little voice in the back of his head is already moaning about the gym time looming in his future, but it's easy to ignore. Wilson sprang for the good butterscotch, the kind that tastes like pure, condensed childhood, and Tony darts back to grab a couple more before continuing on in search of the comeback kids.

He finds them in the entertainment room, Steve sprawling over his half of the couch, Barnes sitting forward with his elbows braced on his knees. They're both staring at the giant theater screen in frank consternation, and Tony only bites back a comment on the mannerisms of dinosaurs in their natural habitat when he realizes they're watching a movie about dinosaurs. That's just too meta even for him.

"Why didn't she change her shoes?" Bucky blurts out, incredulous.

Steve screws up his face, but it's clear he's got nothing. "Dunno, Buck. Maybe there's going to be a dramatic scene later where she stomps a dinosaur with her heels?"

Bucky makes a sound like an aggravated cat, only deeper. More growly. Is he imagining the growl? Tony hopes he's imagining the growl. He needs zero reasons to find Barnes more attractive than he already does, considering he's overstocked as it is.

Steve sighs. "Peggy would've changed her shoes."

"Oh, please," Bucky scoffs. "Carter woulda had her own damn gun and her own wheels too. Shoes're the _least_ of it."

Tony clears his throat before the Peggy Carter Appreciation Society can kick off another meeting, crunching down on his butterscotch to mask the taste of all the crow he'll be eating once Rhodey gets wind of it. It's not like he had anything riding on it, but maybe, _maybe_ back in college he would rant to Rhodey about his old man's obvious man-crush on Captain America, made pathetic by how Rogers and Barnes were clearly gay for each other.

Only...no. Turns out Rogers was as completely gone on Aunt Peg as the history books claimed, and Ladykiller Barnes is still earning his reputation by singing her praises even more enthusiastically than Steve. Not that Tony's disappointed. At all.

They both turn to look at him, but Barnes lights up a little, eyes zeroing in on him with interest and stalling at his mouth. Tony smirks and tosses him a piece of candy that Bucky snatches out of the air. Tony pretends not to notice Steve's approving smile as Bucky peels it open automatically and pops it into his mouth, humming contentedly.

"Hi, Tony," Steve says as Bucky lifts his hand in a little wave. "Care to finish this movie with us? If you're in the mood for dinosaurs, that is," he adds with a tiny smirk. Tony still doesn't get why his dad never mentioned that Rogers is a little shit. Tony would've liked him much better growing up if he'd known.

"Funnily enough, a dinosaur is exactly why I'm here. Also, the day I need _Captain America_ to feed me straight lines, somebody better run a DNA scan, because clearly you're not dealing with Tony Stark."

"Fair enough," Steve says with a grin. "So how can we help you?"

"Not 'we'," Tony corrects, "Barnes. Bucky. Old buddy, old pal. I am _hurt_ ," he says, schooling his face to seriousness as Bucky's eyes widen under arched brows. "I told myself, 'just give it time; he'll make a move when he's ready', and then every night, there I am, sitting by myself. All alone. In a workshop that has _everything_ I need to fix that torture device you're wearing," he insists, jabbing a finger at Bucky's left arm.

His audience goes from staring owlishly to rolling their eyes in unison; it's almost eerie. "Tony," Steve begins long-sufferingly, but Tony lifts his pointing finger in warning.

"Ah! Nope, not hearing it. The fact of the matter is, that arm is literally degrading as we speak," he says, focusing his attention solely on Bucky, who clenches his jaw with a crunch that--oh, right. Candy. "Your servos needed cleaning months ago, probably before you even came here. Now there's a delay and a grind every time you move, and it's getting worse. There's a jam in your elbow gears, your shoulder plates are sticking, and let's not forget that even for a supersoldier, that arm is just too heavy. You may not be feeling the effects yet, but you will, because that thing is slowly but surely pulling your spine out of alignment."

"Buck?" Steve asks, shock replacing frustration as he turns to his friend.

Bucky hunches a shoulder--the right one, Tony notices--guilty and uncomfortable but not refuting any of it. "I thought it'd get better," he mutters, and Christ, Tony wants to go raid the next Hydra base with them just so he can personally punch some people in the face. They've got a medical ward staffed by people even Bucky admits are safe, they've got _him_ rocking the mechanical aspect of any damn thing that needs fixing, and what does Bucky do? Bucky toughs it out, because that's what Hydra trained him to do.

"It's not like flesh and blood," Tony says, trying not to let his anger show. "Your serum can't do anything about a giant hunk of metal grafted to your side. What you can do is let me take a look at it. I can run some scans, clean up what you've got so you don't have to worry about it freezing up when you least expect it, which absolutely is a possibility. Then I can see about refabricating it with a lighter alloy--same strength," he interjects as Bucky opens his mouth with a frown, "same toughness, just not so likely to rip out your spinal cord.

"Or," he adds when Bucky snaps his mouth shut again, "we think big. I build you a brand new arm from the ground up, with all the bells and whistles your little heart desires. You want lasers? You want repulsors? You want magnets so you can climb metal like Spiderman? You got 'em. I consult you every step of the way, and at the end of it, you've got the arm _you_ want, right down to the snappy decal."

He can tell Bucky's tempted by how his face tightens. That kneejerk impulse to reject everything _good_ before the offer can be rescinded is the biggest tell Bucky has for the things he actually wants. Like any good salesman, Tony knows exactly when to back off and let the buyer convince himself.

"Look," he says more calmly, "take a day to think about it. Take a week. Just so long as you think about it, okay? My door's always open."

As an afterthought, Tony flicks Bucky the other piece of candy he's been holding. He doesn't let his smile slip when Bucky catches it right-handed when his left would have been more natural, but he doesn't like what that implies. Bucky must be hurting already.

Shrugging like he's perfectly content to leave the next part up to them, Tony turns to leave, but he doesn't make it two steps before Bucky calls after him. "Hey, Stark. Do you _ever_ get tongue-tied?"

Tony would be tempted to take that as passive-aggressive bluster after being put on the spot, but he can hear the honest humor in Bucky's tone. When he half-turns to glance back, there's an amused smile tugging at one corner of Bucky's mouth, nothing grudging.

Smiling sweetly, Tony shoots back, "Only when I'm thinking too hard about how I'd rather have it occupied."

The bark of laughter that follows him out is delighted, not scandalized, but he's never figured Bucky Barnes for a shrinking violet. Too bad laughter wasn't the response he was most hoping for, but you can't have everything, right?

Even when you're Tony Stark.

***

There are no peppermints anywhere on Tony's floor. They're on every single other floor of the Tower, he's pretty sure--Bucky loves them, and Sam is thorough--but not on Tony's. There's M&Ms by the elevator, candied almonds on the breakfast bar, butterscotches and honey chews flanking the couch in the entertainment room, but no peppermints.

Sam Wilson's soul is made of sunlight and kittens and kindly grandmothers, but Tony still can't figure out why he's leaving candy on Tony's floor to begin with. Literally no one but Rhodey ever visits him there since he and Pepper called it quits, and Rhodey's not a fan of sweets.

"Wishful thinking," he decides as he pops a handful of cinnamon drops into his mouth. It's probably more along the lines of a hint, because the kindly grandmothers Sam Wilson's soul is made of know what's best and will not be listening to any of your bullshit excuses.

He usually likes that about the guy, at least when Wilson isn't making him contemplate obscenely long hours full of nothing but sit-ups.

***

He's in the workshop, idly poking at a schematic for a new boot thruster, when he grabs a handful of jellybeans from the bowl sitting at his elbow and feels his stomach roll over the moment the smell hits him. Flattening his hand out, he peers at the beans in confusion, but because Sam Wilson is an as-yet unrecognized saint, all of the licorice ones have already been picked out. Tony nearly pops them into his mouth anyway out of habit, but that...doesn't seem like a very good idea. Somehow. Maybe for the same reason his head feels like it's full of cotton balls.

"Ugh," he groans, putting the candy back in favor of rubbing at his face. God, he feels miserable: slow and stupid, his stomach torn between nausea and hunger for _anything_ that isn't candy. He wants a rare steak, a deluxe burger and about fifteen gallons of water, and to never so much as glimpse anything sweet ever again. "JARVIS?" he asks, knowing what the problem is but finding it hard to wrap his tongue around the question. Words are just...words _aren't_. Gone. Vanished. Bye-bye. "How much sugar have I had in the last few days?"

" _Well beyond the advisable limits, I'm afraid, sir_ ," JARVIS replies after a moment's calculation. " _It would be wise at this point to begin detoxification immediately_."

Tony sighs. Now he remembers why he avoids getting hopped up on sugar. He's a bit of an opportunistic feeder himself, tends to handle the boring, biological aspects of survival on autopilot without tracking any of it. By the time he realizes he's gone too far, he's already in the middle of a crash. "Thanks, JARVIS. I'll bear that in--"

" _Additionally, sir, it appears Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are currently en route to the workshop. Shall I ask them to return at another time_?"

"Wait, what? On their way _here_?"

" _Yes, sir. They are already in the elevator_."

"Shit." As sluggishly as his brain is moving, he finds himself paralyzed for a few precious seconds, unable to think past the awareness of impending doom. He's in no shape mentally to do anything as complex as work on unknown tech jacked into someone's _spine_ , but who knows how much psyching up it's taken Barnes to make the decision to come see him? If he turns them away now, it may be months before he gets another chance, and every day they delay can be measured in physical damage to Barnes' person. "No, just--let them in. I'll--Jesus. I'll think of something."

He's just not sure _how_ , considering that his brain has been replaced with wool, but he'll manage. He always has before.

"Hey," he calls out as the workshop door slides open, "Cap and Sarge, come on in. Does this mean you've reached a decision, Barnes, or did you have more questions?" He's not sure which he hopes for more; a Q&A session would ordinarily be a great stalling tactic, but he's not sure he could carry it off at the moment without sounding like he has no business handling a screwdriver, much less anything more delicate.

Barnes is in the lead as they enter, jaw set and eyes determined. "Yes," he says firmly. "I want the second option. A brand new arm, if you're up for it."

That last bit probably contains a hint of challenge, but Tony doesn't mind. It's the kind of challenge he lives for, and he can't resist breaking into an enormous grin, even as he's panicking just a little. "Really? That's great!" _Shit, shit, shit,_ he needs to stall them, just long enough to get his blood sugar back under control and his _goddamn brain back_ , so, what, an hour or two? He genuinely has no idea. "I guarantee, you will not regret it. We'll just--"

 _Stall_ , damn it, because Barnes is marching up to his workstation like he's got something to prove, or like pure bravado and Steve's solid presence at his back are the only things that have even gotten him this far.

"We'll start with some--"

And now he's sitting himself down-- _pugnaciously_ \--on the spare stool Tony keeps around for Bruce, right hand fisting in the thin material of a plain black tee and pulling it off all at once, in a one-handed show of flexing bicep and rippling abdominals that coincidentally moves his left arm as little as possible. Tony's useless brain snags completely on what he's seeing: the incredibly natural structure of the bionic arm, the mass of scars that look entirely different in person, the surprisingly dense muscle left behind even on reduced rations. Barnes' body is both a survival manual and a work of art, and Tony's not sure whether he'd rather take him apart or map every inch with his tongue.

"Scans," he hears himself say distantly. "We'll, uh...that. Yeah. Start with that."

Oh, and now they're doing it _again_ , staring at him with eerily identical expressions, though to be fair, stunned blankness probably looks the same on just about everyone. But then they blink, just once and in unison, and suddenly Steve is clearing his throat.

"Oh, hey, look at that," he says in a rush, pulling out his phone and only pretending to glance at it. "It looks like Sam has a thing for me. So I'm going to, uh...go do that thing," he says, waving his phone at Tony like the screen isn't still dark. He's grinning for some reason, eyes bright as he claps Bucky on the right shoulder. "I'll see you later, Buck--let me know how it goes!"

Tony stares after him with a frown, wondering at the bounce in Steve's step as he makes for the door, like he hasn't just abandoned his best friend to a mad scientist in a workshop full of nightmare fuel. Seriously, what the hell?

Only when he looks back, Bucky is grinning too. Grinning and reaching out to snag Tony by the shirt, and Tony's far too stunned to dig in his heels. When Bucky tugs, he goes with a squeak of wheels, rolling closer to fetch up between Bucky's spread legs. He's still staring stupidly when Bucky leans in, only instead of angling for a kiss, Bucky's mouth brushes warmly against his ear. "So," Bucky murmurs, "just how were you thinking about occupying that tongue?"

Holy shit, is it his birthday?

"You--but--Peg?" he manages, trying desperately to get with the program.

Bucky sits back with a chuckle, but it's sad and sweet, without a hint of mockery. "What? She's Stevie's girl," he says with a shrug, "even if nothing ever came of it. Everyone likes hearing nice things about their girl, right?"

Tony stares. Is it _Christmas_? Because it sounds to him like Ladykiller Barnes has been Perfect Best Friend Barnes operating undercover all this time.

"Right," he says automatically. "Sure. So--wait," he says reluctantly, _regretfully_ , only-- "Your arm. This...probably isn't a good time."

"Why not?" Bucky asks, like he's _genuinely curious_ , and--it's a damned good question, Tony has to admit.

"Pain," he blurts, as much to remind himself as to answer Bucky. Right, _that_ was the reason. "Not a fan of it myself. _Really_ not a good look on my, uh--"

Lovers? Can he say 'lovers' here, or is that too intimate? He'd go with 'partners', but that always makes him think he's investing in a startup, which he has, plenty of times, and not just because the sex was fantastic, and fuck, he will _buy_ Bucky a startup if he just keeps smiling like that: warm and hungry and maybe just a little bit charmed.

"It's not that bad," Bucky claims. Tony _really_ wishes he could believe him. "You could distract me."

"I definitely could," Tony agrees, nodding helplessly. "You have no idea. But, uh...scans," he insists, rolling a pointed few inches away when Bucky tries to lean in again. "We definitely need those scans. And I need my brain back. Please." He is perfectly all right with letting Bucky think this is all his fault, because honestly, it is. Tony's sugar crash has just kept him from thinking fast enough to hide it.

Bucky's shoulders go loose as he sits back, some indefinable tension creeping out of him at Tony's tacit admission. The smile he gives Tony is straight from the history books, an impish, closed-mouth thing that etches deep laugh lines into his face like Tony hasn't seen the entire time Bucky's been here. "You're the boss," he says, lashes dipping as his eyes drop to Tony's mouth. "Am I gonna get a reward for being such a good patient?"

"That depends on how good you are," Tony says, knowing he's asking for trouble. That's fine; Bucky's the kind of trouble he _likes_.

Bucky grins. "Try me."


End file.
